Protected
by piratesmiley
Summary: Brennan character study with vague spoilers for Con Man in the Meth Lab. "There has always been someone to take care of her." BB.


A/N: This may be the most angsty/strange thing I've ever written. It also features Josh Lyman, Sam Seaborn, and Donna Moss from the West Wing, because I'm sure that is some lovely AU world, Brennan and Josh are best friends. If you want to debate this, give me a ring.

Disclaimer: I do not own Bones or the West Wing.

There has always been someone to take care of her. Always. And she knows that. She isn't unaware, and she's grateful for the care, the time. She is _so glad_ they care.

There had been her parents and her brother for those first fifteen years, and that was all she needed, but during that time she had more: She had Josh. She always has Josh.

Josh, the boy whose family was small and deteriorating. Josh, the boy who worked too hard and didn't trust people. The boy who lost his sister, the boy who lost his father. This boy was scared and cursed.

He had always needed her, a sister, and she always needed him, a brother. They were a perfect, broken match, and they spent a good portion of their lives together. The only gaping difference—he had parents. She did not.

He was a politician (the title had always made her want to giggle). She had been a politician too, once, but it didn't suit her, no matter how good she was, or how good a team they made. He understood. The boy was good on his own (just like her). But still, there were calls, while she became an anthropologist and he went off to law school. He always called (so did her biological brother, once a year on her birthday, but she didn't let him count).

But they both get very busy now, and the calls are less frequent. She's catching murderers; he's up in the White House. At least they're in the same city. At least she is still allowed in the building, street cred from when she worked there with him and his crew, so she can sneak up on him and smuggle him some real food, and make him laugh before he can stare with aged, tired eyes again at another briefing memo. At least they still have that.

They love each other. They take care of each other equally. With Booth, she feels like a burden and a mess. But that story's for later.

After Josh—_during _Josh—came Josh's friend Sam, with which she was equally more serious and sexually active.

He had gotten her pregnant; the baby died. She doesn't think about it anymore, but still recalls threatening to buy a rifle and shoot Sam between the eyes.

Sam didn't last, although they were still friends, whenever she got to see Josh. But Sam recently moved to California, and she hasn't talked to him since.

During Sam _and_ Josh, during the first Bartlett campaign, came Donna. Brennan was sure she was hired because of her status of tiny, blond, and gorgeous, and the fact that Josh knew he was a charmer. But she began to see more, just like everyone else did (she knows she isn't good at identifying those things, so when she did she patted herself on the back). Every time she saw the two of them she wished she could call them out, but knowing what she knows about herself she would feel like too much of a hypocrite.

Donna brought the sunshine and curiosity that led her to befriend Angela, the scattered, artsy, fresh-out-of-college-and-not-a-place-to-go hipster. And she provided enough sunshine and pestering to push her right into Seeley Booth's arms.

And he is the problem she's been putting off for the better part of four years. Not that he has ever caused her trouble or pain (_he_ had never left her for the Ivy League; _he_ had never gotten her pregnant), but the amount of time she spends thinking about him is enough to raise some alarm.

The thing is that he is perfect. Or at least, she dangerously perceives him as perfect. She knows, rationally, that he is not, but emotionally…when he gets her to think emotionally…

He is the new sunshine; he is also the air and her umbrella to shield her from the perils of the outside world, but still push her out to see the benefits. He is in her laughter and her smiles, he is the reflection in her oceanic eyes. The thought of letting him out into the world strikes fear into her heart; but _she_ is the one being protected, being taken care of. She has no say in what he does, what happens with him, and yet he has all the claim on her and then some. She spends her days struggling for purchase on their scale of favors and heroic acts, but she keeps falling ass-backward.

And this leads to the loss of faith she didn't know she had. She had abandoned him for someone much less, simple as that. This treason makes her want to do more, to help more, but what can _she_ do? She can't admit -- she isn't strong enough to admit — that she needs him desperately to shelter her, to carry her, to hold her close. And there isn't anything wrong with that—who wouldn't feel that way, with him around?—but she needs to keep herself in check. She needs to make him feel that too.

But she's stunted in every important way.

She knew that when she shut herself away that she was giving up things she might need later, but she didn't care, selfishly wallowing in feeling alone. And she knows that she really was—and is—_that_ teenager, the one who watched from the sidelines longingly. Now she is useless and empty, except for this need for him to value her.

She holds him too high up, like a children with their superheroes — so high up with expectations bound to be broken.

This man never broke them. He was exception after exception, breaking all the rules — an oxymoron. And she loved him for it.


End file.
